Dogs and duckponds
by chuxter
Summary: What do you get when you take one private consulting detective, a private estate, a curious client and six dogs? ANSWER: One hell of a fanfic! R&R please :D


_Well then._

_This fanfic oneshot is for xravenscroftx who specifically asked for it in a  
review of my other fic, letters, and don't say you didn't! :)  
Also thanks to bcbdrums for BETA reading. xx_

_Treat yourself! Go on!_

It was late November 1895, and my friend Sherlock Holmes had been back in London since spring the previous year.

About this time, though I cannot recall exact dates to memory as Holmes would not let me write it down, we got a visitor.

He was a young gentleman, of fairly good build with dark hair which he had combed backwards; similarly to the detective's own hair.

He came to us saying that his sister, Miss Deborough Howling, had made the decision to get married.

However this decision had been badly recieved by he and his father, as the young man in question was often excitable and had been known to suffer an ill heart. Also, his only connection was an uncle, as he and his father had quarrelled on his fathers deathbed and his father had hurriedly changed his Will so as to give his son, Afrikaans by birth, a small fortune in English pounds and an old estate in Yorkshire.

In short, the young man had had no choice but to move into the country in order to survive.  
This had completely isolated him from the rest of his family, bar his uncle; a middle class gentleman living in Hertfordshire.

Of course this had proposed great problems for the idea of marriage, as his fortune was slowly trickling away.

Mr. Johnathon Howling, a respectable gentleman, had not wanted to see his sister sinking steadily through the classes until she reached the bottom of society. He had warned his father immediately, and, on hearing the news his father forbade any correspondence between Miss Howling and the young man in question, namely one Rra. William Duke.

Holmes, at this point in the story, had looked away with disdain.

Our visitor had edged forward desperately, a pleading look in his eyes, "But that's not all sir. Not a day after she wrote the letter of refusal to him, there came a terrible, blood curdling scream from her room. Well I ran up to see what was wrong and when I opened the door I saw no sign of her whereabouts!"Holmes turned, "She ran away?" he asked, curiously, lifting one eyebrow.

"No sir, I don't believe so, and perhaps you won't if you hear the rest of the story."

"The rest?" My friends eyes flickered.

"Yes. There was blood you see. Bloody handprints all up the walls, like someone had been scrabbling desperately. A woman sir, the hands of a woman, stained deep red with blood."

Holmes pointed his finger at me and I dutifully started taking notes, "Tell me, how long did it take you to reach her room after you heard the scream?"

"Well I was outside in the grounds sir, beneath her window. So about five minutes I suppose, seeings the doors were locked."

"All the doors?"

"Yes sir, the housekeeper locks them every night at five and reopens them at six the next morning."

"And yet you were outside?"

"I spent the night in a cottage in the Eastern region of our grounds."

"Do you have guard dogs?"

"Yes sir, eighteen at the last count, all prowling the grounds."

"And none of them barked at any stage that morning?"

"No Mr.Holmes, not that I am aware of."

"And you were beneath the window?"

"Yes sir."

"Did you see anyone?"

"No sir."

"What floor is your sister's window on?"

"The second."

"Oh, how pleasant, nice view?"

"Yes, quite nice sir." Our client looked puzzled.

"But, then, it's an old house, I suppose the walls are completely overgrown with ivy, which, needless to say, attracts all sorts of unpleasant insects."

"Well, yes sir, but shouldn't we be talking about.."

"Well! Thank you Mister Howling! We shall see you again, no doubt."

Our client looked flustered as he left, but still managed to turn and thank us for our time as Holmes ushered him out of the door.

"Come Watson, I think we may enjoy a walk. The weather after all is quite pleasant."I looked up from my writing and glanced outside. Thick fog and a slight drizzle.  
My gaze returned to the expectant eyes of my friend.

* * *

By the time we had reached the estate it was already dark. Holmes had confided nothing in me, so on appearing at the edge of Mr. Howler's land I was as shocked as you, if you are in some league of intelligence with me, will probably be.

"Holmes?" I questioned.

His finger moved to his lips and tapped them.

Then, slowly, he began scaling the wall.

I stood there for a moment, hesitant of what to do, then I followed him, a slight annoyance awakening in the pit of my stomach.

Once we had reached the top we saw the cottage. It was small with a thatched roof, like something out of a childhood picture book.

We climbed down into the grounds. I was at that point well aware that there were eighteen guard dogs, a thought that had previously not bothered me.  
We heard a bark in the distance, and then another one, closer this time. Then four more, a few hundred yards from us.

"Hide!" Holmes hissed.

I dove towards the nearest tree for cover, the branches of which spread over the edge of the wall.

A moment later I heard a groan from Holmes, and then a splash. I turned from my position on the lowest branch momentarily, to observe that my friend was stood in a fish pond.

I could not hold back a laugh, and although I could not see him, I knew he was glaring at me. But for some reason, that just made the laugh all the more worthwhile.  
Then into the square prowled six dogs. They settled beneath the tree, voicing throaty growls of disgust towards me.

"Go away Watson, you're ruining it!" he hissed. I turned and saw two men striding towards the area from different paths. They would see me, no doubt, with my six oversised demon friends growling at me from the floor.

It felt almost farsical to leave Holmes standing in a fishpond surrounded by six great beasts of dogs (of a breed which I later recognized as the Rhodesian ridgeback), while two men involved in our latest case spoke 'privately' with each other only a few feet away.

It also felt strange as I leapt from the wall, a small smile twitching on my lips as I casually strolled back to Baker street, leaving my friend in his own mess for once. Yes it felt strange; strangely good, that is.

_Review!(subliminal message there XD)_

_For those who don't know, 'Rra' is the African equivalent of 'Mr.'_


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